DadCentric

Bully

In general, I believe kids default to Good. Not good, as in "you cleaned your room all by yourself" good, but true Goodness, that which keeps them from torturing small animals or lighting their younger siblings' hair on fire. 

I didn't always believe that; there was a time when I'd have told you the opposite was true. Specifically, that time was the first few weeks of sixth grade, when I was informed by a grinning little bastard (whom I'll call Jeff T) that he and five of his friends were going to kick my ass after school, punishment for the crime of being the new kid, and a dorky one at that ("A-Fag", they called me, in their minds a clever play on my last name). What I remember was running. I told my teacher, who talked to the boys; I told my mom, who picked me up from school for several days; I remembering running across the field that lay between my school and my house. It was a straight shot, a couple hundred yards at most, and for several months I ran across that field when class let out, not daring to look back as that would slow me down and they would catch me and beat me to a bloody pulp. I ran as fast as fear would push me. 

We spent yesterday at the pool; our friends belong to a local country club, our boys are close, and we're often invited to hang out with them. The pool was busy; there are two pools at the club, and this one was reserved for the kids, a couple of feet deep, a bored teenaged lifeguard endlessly twirling her whistle around on its string. We bought a cheap inflatable air mattress for Lucas, and he was loving it - it was his pirate ship, then it was his surfboard, then it was his spaceship. Lucas and his air mattress attracted the attention of another boy, a stranger. The kid was Lucas' age, perhaps a bit older. He was brandishing a Super Soaker. At first, he just started spraying Lucas with water. Then he'd spray Lucas with water and take the air mattress from him - Lucas asked him to please stop. The kid grabbed it and took it - of course Lucas protested and took it back, but the kid didn't stop. After watching this a few times, I asked the kid to please stop taking Lucas' air mattress.

Then it escalated.

You Can't Swim in an Ice Age

We were supposed to go see Ice Age 7:Dawn of Tony Orlando or some such nonsense.  I was then going to post about it here for your reading enjoyment.

Enjoyment is such a strong word.

However, I'm fairly confident that I can review the movie for you anyway.

Win a 3-Month Membership to JumpStart.com!

Congratulations to Janna for winning the free membership and CD-ROM and learning from "Full House" that when in doubt, hug it out.

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Gone are the guilt-free summer days of simply babysitting your children with endless sitcom and cartoon reruns.

We parents are beaten with the guilt stick about needing to continue our kids' education when school is not in session lest they fall behind and become total failures.

Fortunately, two such failures -- college washouts Billy Gates and little Stevie Jobs -- overcame this neglect and gave us home computers.

And these computers have games that can:

• teach the wee ones educational basics that help them meet the No Child Left Behind requirements necessary for your school system to get mucho federal dinero, and
• entertain the scamps long enough so you can enjoy a tall cold one on the patio in a bit of peace.

One such game is JumpStart.com and DadCentric can get you hooked up with a free 3-month membership to this online gaming/learning site that could help keep your kids happy this summer and you sane.

But first, a review …

Feel Good Hit of The Week

The soundtrack for the past three days has been the high-pitched shrieking of a nineteen month old. Constant save for when she's been asleep or eating, and a few times when she's had her attention diverted by her always-entertaining brother (who may just get a Lifetime Pass for sitting down and playing Hot Wheels with her during one of her crying jags). 

I think that there should be a Virus Of Some Sort for everything. "Why didn't you meet that deadline?" "I'm not sure. It was probably a Virus Of Some Sort." "Why don't you release the election results?" "We're not sure. It's probaby due to a Virus Of Some Sort.""Governor, what prompted you to disappear for three 

days?" "I believe I was infected with a Virus Of Some Sort." "What's wrong with our baby, Doc? Why has she been crying inconsolably for the past 48 hours?" "I'm not sure. She probably has a Virus Of Some Sort." It would cover so much. The perfect Non-Answer.

So she probably has a Virus Of Some Sort, and that's as helpful as a screen door in a submarine, which is to say that I'm feeling that particular strain of utter helplessness and utter rage. My instinct, when my kids are in distress, is to scream and break shit. Go all Papa Bear on the Universe for putting them through the wringer. I'm gritting my teeth as I write this with shaky hands: it's about an hour and a half past her lunchtime, about two and half hours past her bed time, she's done neither, she's feeling it, we're feeling it. There's a special kind of Hell you go through as a parent and that's the one where you are powerless to help your kids, and the only thing you can do is to say please, please, please, to no one in particular. There's brief lulls - maybe she's trying to nap, maybe she's distracted by her stuffed Cookie Monster, maybe she's just too exhausted to nap or cry - and it starts up again, the crying, the pain, and it just keeps on comin'.

The True Meaning of Father's Day

We've been talking a lot about Father's Day this week. To recap: 

Mr. Big Dubya, on the loss of a father and a friend.

Me, on a day in the life.

Kevin, with Special Guest Dad Dead Michael Landon, on dads as second-class citizens.

Whit heads up a contest for dads (WHICH YOU NEED TO ENTER)

The Holmes gives props to all you m*therf*ckers.

I get all artsy. Literally.

TwoBusy makes you verklempt.

To the dads out there - have a great Father's Day, and remember: this is what it's all about...

Remembering Those Who Fathered the Dads of DadCentric

Sunday is of course the Best Holiday In The Galaxy when Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny converge to shower Dads everywhere with shiny electronic wonders and the weather calls for a storm of raining beer. We can't be bothered to mow the grass because it's raining beer and Dads everywhere just look into the sky with open mouths until our wives call us in the house to fuck us all kinds of limber ways like slutty porno girls.

In honor of this Wondrous Day, the DadCentric guys all pondered memories of their own Dads to make a single post that speaks about the Dads of the Dadliest Dads on the internet. 

Something I like to do

My son is now three days away from finishing Kindergarten, and each afternoon as he arrives home he carries with him a new onslaught of artwork stuffed into his red backpack. Every evening, we leaf through the newest additions to the pile, often laughing and sometimes surprised by what we see. Most startling are the projects where his teachers had him draw something at the beginning of the school year - a self-portrait, for example - and then repeat the exercise now, placing in bold relief the sum of all he's learned, how he's grown, how his perception of the world around him has evolved and how his fine motor skills have developed and sharpened.

It's often kind of remarkable.

Lifespeed

Up at 7:00 from a dead sleep because Friday he went to Beebe and Buddy's while Mom and Dad went to Palm Springs and he got to go to the L.A. Zoo and watched some shows and it was too cold to go in their pool but the yard was big enough for him and Mick to play ball until it started getting dark and then he and Zoe ate pizza for dinner. PIZZA! and then there was dessert and he got to stay up late and watched a movie WALL-E! and for breakfast there was Oreo Yogurt! and then he and Buddy went to THE FISH STORE! and got some new fish for the pond some big ones and little ones that eat all the green stuff in the pond and are small enough to hide from the STUPID RACCOONS! who like to eat the fish and the avocados. Yuck! Avocados! And then he got to watch the Lakers win the big game and Derek Fisher wears the number 2 jersey and he isn't big but he always tries hard and is a good teammate! and then HAMBURGERS! and peaches over ladyfingers, the peaches are just ok but the ladyfingers are sooooooooo yuuuuuuuumy. And then falling asleep in the car and waking up on Monday and it's the first day of DAYCAMP! Turkey sandwich! Carrots with Ranch! Juice box! IN A NEW STAR WARS LUNCHBOX! And we have to hurry so that he doesn't miss the games and the art because the games and the art are SUPER FUN. And, maybe, swimming? Andthensixhoursgobygamesartnewfriends! How was daycamp? It was fun, what'd I do, I don't know there was soooooooo much. The people from the Zoo were there and they brought! An! ALLIGATOR!!!!!!!!! Only it was a little one. But it was an alligator! And a Pray Dog! They live in the Pray! In holes in the ground! The Pray is like the desert but there's tall grass and sometimes there's a buffalo! Starving! Can I have another barbecued onion! They're sweet and not hot! Is there dessert? Do I have to take a bath? Do I have to go to bed? Can I play cars until it's bedtime? Why is it bedtime now? Is there dessert? It's still light out! Are yoooou going to bed? Why not?

ImnottireditsstilllightoutIwantahugIwantmydogistherecampagaintomorrow...

Eyes close, snoring starts, cycle repeats.

The Last Supper: A One Act, One Scene Play Based on True Events

Setting: a DINNER TABLE at THE AVANT HOUSEHOLD. Around the table sit THE AVANT FAMILY: JASON (father), BETH (mother), ZOE (daughter, 19 months old), LUCAS (son, 5 years old), MICK (family dog).

ZOE: (banging metal serving spoon repeatedly and loudly against metal serving bowl). CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG

BETH (to ZOE): Are you done yet?

ZOE: (stops banging metal spoon) Nnnnnnnnnnnno! (resumes banging metal spoon repeatedly and loudly against metal serving bowl). CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG 

LUCAS: I have a wiener on my head! There's a wiener on my head!

JASON: (drains wine glass in one long gulp)

BETH: (drains wine glass in one long gulp)

ZOE: (grunts, defecates in diaper, takes large swig of milk from sippy cup, opens mouth and lets milk run down the front of her shirt soaking it, drops sippy cup on MICK's head)

MICK: Yipe!

LUCAS: Wiener!

FIN

I don't think that's how it was intended to be used

We've had a couple of birthdays over the past few days: my youngest, Littlest Dubya, tuned one on Saturday and my oldest, Li'l Dubs, four on Tuesday. That means we have balloons lying around in various states of inflation and flotation. Some of the latex balloons have outright given up and lie on the floor, shriveling, streamers curled up around them; others continue to fight the good fight and hover five or six feet above the ground in defiance of gravity - thumbing their noses at Newton and Blood, Sweat and Tears. The mylar balloons, with their virtually non-porous skins, will float around indefinitely, mockingly: "Ha, you can't get rid of me...the kids can still see me...floating around...la, la, la, la. And you know they'll ask about me if you pop me...Hey, get away from me with those scissors...I'm Elmo, dammit!"

No, this isn't a post about talking balloons or the voices in my head. Last night the wife and I picked up some balloons off the floor and began using them as punch balls, and although the ones we used as kids were far more resilient and bigger and, well, cooler than these withering balloons, our kids wanted to try this new game. And, as often happens when I begin to wax nostalgic for toys of yesteryear, I found myself saying, "remember such and such?" Well, here's some of the "such and such" that was mentioned and remebered fondly.